


Moments apart, together.

by Beauteousmajesty



Series: On discovery [12]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Actual golden retriever Denmark, Genderfluid Character, Horrifyingly domestic, M/M, None of my Nordics are cishet, museum visits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beauteousmajesty/pseuds/Beauteousmajesty
Summary: Denmark convinces Norway to spend a day at the Danish national history museum. Norway doesn’t mind, Frederiksborg used to be home.





	Moments apart, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, I’ve never been to Frederiksborg (or anywhere I write about tbh) so if you know it well, suspend your disbelief for me.  
> Everyone’s favourite Denmark related tag is back, but this will go pretty late in the series because I’m writing them very out of order and we’ve got a lot of parts to go before we connect the vague plot that’s going on up to here.

When Denmark pokes him awake, his feet are cold against Norway’s leg. He’s obviously been awake for a while and come back to wake him up. It would be sweet, Norway decides, were it not for the fact that Denmark’s feet are cold and he wants to be asleep.

This is how most of their weekends begin so as Norway lies in the bed, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he has no idea what year it is. Denmark’s Copenhagen bedroom offers no clues, it has remained unchanged for most of their relationship. He rolls over to give Denmark a half hearted glare before closing his eyes in an effort to go back to sleep. The bed is warm, even if Dan’s feet aren’t.

He doesn’t get to go back to sleep. Dan prods him again, so Norway gently kicks him and puts the covers on his head as a shield from Denmark’s hands. They serve as a terrible shield. Norway knows this, they fail him every weekend.

Once the covers have been successfully stolen by a far too cheerful looking Denmark, whose feet have now warmed up to an acceptable temperature, Norway begrudgingly allows himself to be woken up.

It appears that whilst getting his feet cold, Denmark has also made coffee for both of them, so Norway obediently wriggles himself into a sitting position to accept the drink that is obviously for him (Denmark’s is so full of milk and sugar it might kill a human, whereas Norway’s contains enough caffeine to definitely kill a human).

As they drink, Norway listens to the quiet house, still finding it odd in its silence. There are no pattering feet down the hallway, coming to invade their bed. There are no small nations coming for story-time or to have disputes settled. There is no Iceland to throw himself into the bed and demand his brother’s attention. There’s just silence in a house that’s empty apart from themselves.

Its a Saturday, so they’ll be left alone as long as they’d like. That’s something that both of their governments have agreed on, although they may be called for if something disastrous happens. Disasters rarely happen on Saturdays, though, and Norway could stay in bed all day if he wished.

Well perhaps, but Denmark has got bored and lonely in the house on his own and as such he’s decided its time to do something. That part, Norway catches among the rapid ancient Danish that is being spoken almost faster than Denmark can breathe. Denmark also definitely says something about a castle, but Norway’s still half asleep and not fully tuned in to whatever Denmark is saying. Having spent years together, Denmark knows he’ll have to repeat all his plans later. But he doesn’t mind, he’ll still be as excited then.

Denmark has been too busy talking to drink his drink, so Norway finishes before him and clambers out of bed to get dressed. His clothes help give him context as to which era they’re in, building on what he’d gathered from the coffee cup, there are dresses in his side of the wardrobe that would make a flapper faint.

Regardless of what era they might be in, dressing is an automatic practice, his hands close buttons without effort and tie stays without notice. By the time he has finished dressing, Denmark is done with his coffee and has bounced across the room to join him, his return to their bed was merely for its occupant and now that appeal had gone.

As Denmark was already dressed from his early morning excursions, they vacate the bedroom, taking the coffee cups to the kitchen, which is warm, with morning sunlight shining in the window. Norway washes the cups while Denmark flurries around his kitchen far too fast for any reasonable being, making breakfast and sorting paperwork and feeding the cat and doing all manner of other things.

Sometimes, when he gets close to Norway in his irregular movement, Norway will take the opportunity to flick soap bubbles at him, whereby Denmark will shriek dramatically and try to catch the suds and throw them back, always failing, but enjoying the game nonetheless.

By the time that Norway has finished with the cups and the other things left on the side from the previous evening, Denmark has finished with breakfast, two plates as islands in the sea of paperwork that constitutes Denmark’s table. Norway rests his feet on Denmark’s knees as they eat, and Denmark goes through his plan again.

They’re going to Frederiksborg, if Norway’s okay with it. Denmark wants to see his old stuff, and he’s always liked the gardens there. Norway doesn’t mind, he quite likes Frederiksborg for what it is, so soon they’re shoving on their boots and coats by the door.

The walk to the train station is quiet, Denmark is happy to walk quietly in exchange for holding Norway’s hand and being permitted to swing it. They are unbothered all the way through the fairly empty streets, unlike the dramatic reaction the reveal of their identities had prompted. At the train station and on the train, tourists are excited to see them, Norway takes the window seat and dozes, letting Denmark interact with the people in their carriage.

Dan prods him awake again when they reach Hillerød, taking his hand as they climb out of the train. On the walk to the castle, Norway is more awake than earlier happy to engage Denmark in aimless conversation, and to let their joined hands swing.

It’s not far to walk and soon they can see the castle as Denmark details his scheme for getting around the visitor restrictions of the museum so that they can see their favourite parts. Norway is still somewhat impressed by how many words Denmark uses to say ‘ask’.

It works though, once the museum staff recognise them, they are all too willing to call a curator to take them wherever they want to go inside. The museum doesn’t trust them enough to send them without supervision as well as desiring to rearrange their collection to exhibit things important to their nation. Norway is relieved when they can leave the crowd of waiting tourists, crowds have worried him since the 1660s.

The museum is probably wise not to trust them alone in the castle, each exhibit and room feels unchanged from when they were living there and Norway has to refrain from picking up familiar objects that are now centuries old and carefully conserved. It is only the fragments of modernity and the chatter of their chaperone that keep him from getting lost in time again.

Denmark is happy to chatter with their guide, glad to finally have a human who understands most of his jokes, which apparently now need historical context. With Denmark distracting the curator, Norway is free to wander within sight in their old home.

Frederiksborg fills him with a sad kind of nostalgia. It was home for so long for him, he knows he reoccurs in the exhibits downstairs in the museum of Danish history. He has spent wonderful days with Denmark in this castle, they have walked the gardens so much that Norway is certain he could navigate its paths in his sleep. But he has also been miserable here, he’s sat alone when Denmark was off at war, he’s laid sick and dying in bed, he’s felt his people suffering whilst he was caught, distant, in what seemed a gilded trap.

Frederiksborg, he thinks, is easier to visit when it’s staff know who they are. When they no longer treat them like tourists visiting a place where royalty lived once, come to learn about Danish history. Now that they are known, they can stand apart from the crowds and relive their history in the place that used to be their home.

Lost in thought and time, Norway snaps back to reality when Denmark joins their hands back together and rests his chin on Norway’s head. It’s then that Norway realises his feet have led them to their bedroom without him realising. They’re stood by their old bed, its covers drawn up far more tidily than they ever were when they were using it. There’s a thin layer of dust on the bedroom cabinets and a security camera above the door.

It’s the first time they’ve seen this room in years. In the past they’ve been forced to stick with the exhibitions for tourists or the more formal rooms for royal events. It’s their bedroom, but it’s not their bedroom anymore. All at once, a feeling of loss rushes over Norway, that they’ll never have what they had again. They’ll never wake up each day together, sharing a capital, sharing a government. Each interaction has to be carefully planned now rather than just occurring because they live together. He misses having Denmark close, he misses having Iceland and their children all in one house. He misses their morning visitors pattering down the corridor for story-time and attention.

This room makes him feel old and he is glad that Denmark is holding his hand. They’re both awkwardly frozen by the room, not knowing whether to stay or go, caught in its uncanniness. It is their chaperone who breaks the moment, asking questions about the room, unaware of its significance, ignorant of the history of the knife scratches on the dresser and the ink stains on the bedposts. Norway is grateful when Denmark steers around answering anything. He knows how much the museum would love to display this room, that’s no longer their room, for all the world to see, if they knew what it was.

But for now, as they leave to walk the gardens, it’s just a room in a castle where royalty once lived. Perhaps their guide will guess, or perhaps Danishness will prevail and their guide will be distracted from their reaction to one room among many.

When they reach the gardens, Denmark still hasn’t let go of his hand, and their guide leaves them to walk the gardens, open to the public, alone. They don’t have to think at this point. They’ve visited Frederiksborg enough to know which paths of their longest walking route remain relatively quiet, and they pass the afternoon in near solitude, stopping for lunch under a tree where years earlier they’d taught Iceland to fence.

They take a selfie when they’re done, of themselves and the castle, unsure of whether they’ll post it online or simply keep it for Denmark’s extensive photo album collection.

Its late afternoon by the time they reach the train station and Denmark has worn himself out with talking and exploring. They’re quiet on the train, Norway enjoys the silence of their carriage and listens to the quiet clicking of the wheels meeting the rails, a world away from the noise of the early engines that seemed to have been in use only yesterday. They thread the streets of Copenhagen back to Denmark’s townhouse. The streets are filled with Danes heading home for the evening, and Norway is struck with a feeling of how brief their lives will be, that they will never go home to find their home a museum, with their possessions locked in glass cabinets for all the world to see.

There’s post on the mat when they reach Denmark’s house and kick off their boots. Denmark flicks though it and adds it to some of the various paperwork piles on his table. The table is big enough for all of their family and extends to fit all of the Nordics, but he only uses two chairs regularly. The rest sit dormant for most of the year, so Denmark fills their places with paperwork.

Without looking in Denmark’s fridge, Norway knows what food he has and reaches absentmindedly for the ingredients for their evening meal. When he’s finished with his post, Denmark comes to help, washing up the things that Norway is done with and stopping him putting too much salt in everything.

They eat blander food than their modern citizens, bodies still convinced that they are recovering from famine. They’re used to bland, however, they’re European, it’s tradition. More diverse food is slowly making its way into their lives, Norway’s people have dedicated Fridays to tacos and Denmark loves the pastries that Austria named after him. But tonight they are as happy with fish as they’ve been for more than a thousand years now.

After they’ve eaten they settle in front of Denmark’s fire, Norway finds his current book and Denmark posts their selfie before scrolling through the day’s news stories. Norway is struck by how quiet it is in between Denmark sharing stories he thinks Norway will appreciate. It’s just them and the fire. Norway is warm and happy, lying on the sofa with his head in Denmark’s lap. Once he’d thought that times of peace like this would never come, but he’s glad they have, and that he’s got Denmark to share them with.

On Monday he can worry about who’s bombing who, and who’s overfishing what sea and all the other things that his government worry about. For now he and Denmark can watch the fire burn to embers before climbing the stairs to their bed.

This bed is newer than the one in Frederiksborg but still old for human eyes. It’s big wooden frame was a gift, Norway can’t remember who from, but they’ve been using it for decades. The sheets are a mess from the morning’s fight over them but it takes them little effort to smooth them back into order and be ready for bed.

Denmark’s feet are cold as he wraps himself around Norway and falls fast asleep, leaving Norway squished but cozy as he lies awake and considers the day, deciding that Denmark’s presence had been the only thing that made Frederiksborg home, and as he slips back into sleep, he is glad beyond measure that Denmark’s still here.


End file.
